


The Sacrifice of Sorrow

by Severedpsychos



Category: Metal Gear Solid
Genre: Asshole father, Big Boss is cute and weird and oddly innocent, Blood and Gore, Dark origins, F/M, Sad Romance, The Philosophers are a bunch of dicks, The Sorrow’s death, The obliviousness of Big Boss, Tragic Romance, Violence, Wry Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 12:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severedpsychos/pseuds/Severedpsychos
Summary: The tale of The Boss being required to sacrifice her lover, The Sorrow.





	The Sacrifice of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> My wife made me do this or I was to wind up like The Sorrow. I have since hidden any firearms. The latter being completely unrelated to the first.......I promise.........Honey.

A breeze stirred the curtains as the kindly nurse left a tray for the woman in the hospital bed. She stared out the window, feeling a chill in her blood that wind and weather could not account for. She saw not the bright sun, or dusky mountains, but a vicious memory that replayed endlessly since her father had come to visit.

It was a mirror image of what she saw in reality, except with the image of her father, standing like royalty, handing out a decree that could not be disobeyed. “We took the infant. Unless you or your lover dies, we will snuff it from its piteous existence. He will live at our sufferance and die at our whim. You ruined yourself being with that man. Now either you or him will die.” Her father left immediately after that edict was handed down. It spared her having to hold the tears back. They flowed with a sad grace, only to stop just as suddenly.

She recalled the moment with utter clarity and a seething hate coiled deep in her heart. She despised her father, but she was every inch the soldier she had armored herself in. She would do her duty, the choice between her lover and herchild made itself. She would have to kill him. There was no other choice. Her heart broke inside, but it never affected her expression or demeanor.

She wondered, briefly, if she should tell her apprentice where she was going, but she decided against it, yet again. After all, it would inflate his ego, unduly, to let him know she actually enjoyed his presence and even found him to be a very pleasant distraction from time to time. She was always telling him to go home, a test, to see if he was stubborn enough to stay. He always did stay, and he likely would be waiting when she returned, no doubt smoking those god-awful cigars. How was he to blend into the environment if he reeked of smoke? Anyone who got close would immediately be put on alert.

She shook her head to clear the distraction away. She had more pressing matters to deal with. Getting out of the bed with a low hiss of pain as the scar that wound its way up the front of her torso protested the movement. Gently, she walked over to the stand mirror in the corner of the room, shedding her hospital gown like a snake it’s skin. She stood looking at the serpentine line of scar tissue that told her a tale of theft and sadistic pleasure. There was no excuse for the c section to go all the way up over her breast and just beneath the hollow of her throat. That was done as punishment, and done with malice.

Still naked as she was born, she walked over to her favorite set of OD Green fatigues. If one were to look close enough, they could still see the bloodstains that could never be fully removed. She wondered if that young man had ever noticed. It was hard to tell if the man was brilliant or just abnormally lucky. Even as she lazily put them on she pondered this course of events. Did he know this was coming? Is that why he left and ordered her not to tell anyone else where? Why only tell her?

It was beginning to seem more and more as if he had set all of this up, put these events into motion for a reason. She couldn’t even begin to catch a glimpse or understand the forethought that must have gone into it, if it was the case. A burning heat slowly built in her veins, a sweet and joyous song of thrill and adrenaline. Was it possible she would get a chance to face him in battle? The very thought froze her body to absolute stillness. Not the stillness of fear but the stillness of an ambushing predator, eagerly awaiting the kill. 

None of this torrent of feeling touched her face, it retained its typical non-expression. Long ago, as a young girl she had decided to not let her emotions show. The things her father had done to “toughen her up” were vicious and cruel by any human standard. Another memory filled her mind before she could dismiss it, her childhood friend had mocked her when she fell and scraped her knee while playing tag. Her father had appeared form thin air to lay a long knife beside where she sat sniffling and stood tall looking down on her with a frigid expression. He used the same tone when he told her to kill her lover as he did then, she realized. “Do not allow anyone to mock you, or don’t come home. Come back with her blood on the knife and where you hid the body. And mind the dress. You have sullied it enough as it is. You don’t need to be washing blood out as well.”

She snorted heavily as if to violently expel the memory. She had done what he demanded, and did her damndest to never show outward expression ever again. Especially in front of him. She finished dressing quickly despite the protest of tender flesh and stitches. She left the room without a backward glance. Nodding politely to the nurse that had tended her in the hallway. Her Greek was rusty, so she didn’t embarrass herself by trying to say thank you. Many Greeks had found themselves working in this hospital of late. She wondered why that was when it was essentially a British area. Major Oh would have been at home here, she thought.

Exiting the hospital, there were a scattering of people throughout the area. Two of them by a statue in the center, stood out to her immediately. Clearly her father’s men in those obvious black suits with sunglasses. That had grown into a cliche since the Roswell incident, that father had hushed up. Even she didn’t know what really went on, and all the people father had working on it “mysteriously” died. She had never bothered to ask about it as she knew she would only get a brick wall for an answer. Still, she was curious.

She continued walking as if she had no idea who they were, heading for the road that lead downhill and would eventually get her to the harbor. The men followed behind at a generous distance. Her mind processed that, as they weren’t there to kill her, they were observers to be sure that she did her duty. They had persisted in following her for miles, as if men in nice suits walked any significant distance.

They were noisy and completely obvious. Did they really expect her to believe this “coincidence”, or accept such amateurs were supposed to actually follow her to her lover? This was insulting. A small smirk of a smile on her face camouflaged the wide predatory grin in her thoughts, “don’t let anyone mock you.” he said. She knew how to handle things from there.

Turning to go off-road, into the nearby rocks and hills, she spotted a nearby tree. She continued without looking, knowing the hounds would be obediently following. Walking by the tree, she casually reached up and snapped off a branch about the thickness of her finger. Working quickly, she broke it so the length was little more than twice that of her hand, almost exactly the length of her combat knife. She then worked on the jagged end of the initial break to make it more of a pointed end. 

Returning to the road, she continued for some time til she reached the harbor. It was fully dark by that time, and the dogs at her heels were clearly run ragged. They had let the distance between them become greater and greater as the day wore on. Somewhere along the way they had stripped off their jackets to hand carry them, and loosened those useless ties, rather than suffer the increased heat. Everything on your person should serve a tactical or concealment purpose. A necktie only offered someone else the opportunity to strangle you with impunity. 

Approaching shipping containers, stacked like some crazed child giant’s building block set, she plotted her ambush. The men behind her realized the potential to lose her in such an environment, and tried, with futile effort, to hurry but not look like they were doing any such thing. After all, it would spoil the illusion that they weren’t following her at all. They happened to be heading the same way, at the same time, to the same place, for no reason whatsoever. 

Walking with the same pace since she started, she smoothly turned a corner at one of the containers, making her motions deliberately as to show she didn’t realize she was being followed. She slowed her pace briefly and listened to the sound of those two idiots sprinting madly to catch up to her and not lose her. She resumed walking normally, once they were close enough. They skidded, comically, around the corner, and realized she was just there, walking calmly, and ducked back behind the corner as she turned with torpid slowness to see what the noise was. The toe of a black shoe was still visible as she turned around. At least she could say she never trained these disgraceful excuses of blood and bone. 

Memory came willingly to her call as she walked. Her apprentice had never been that sloppy, even when she first encountered him. It was in the very first days of the Korean War. His platoon had been detailed to eliminate a bunker position as the opening phase of a counter attack, led by US forces. Her charming apprentice had lied about his age to join. At the tender age of fifteen, he was the only one to reach that bunker alive. 

She had been tasked to complete the mission if they failed, and had shadowed and watched them all the way through their assault. She had increasingly found her attention drawn to the young man again and again. He had an innate understanding of how the battlefield ebbed and flowed. By intuition, he found areas the enemy’s attention was away from, or utilized accurate fire to suppress the enemy, before slipping away unnoticed. 

Deciding to meet the young man, she entered the bunker behind him. It was a scene familiar to one steeped in the ways of war. To others it would seem something from darkest nightmares. Blood spattered and painted walls of the stark concrete. To her, the blood told a tale of unleashed violence and ferocity. No more than one or two rounds went into each body she saw as she worked her way silently through the bunker. She noticed he must have run out of ammunition because the bodies looked broken by brute physical force. Ultimately dead is dead, but the clear lack of hesitation in the switch from a weapon to bare hands showed he was a natural-born killer, but very untrained. This piqued her curiosity further. 

She found him in the bunker commander’s office, trying to get the officer to speak to him in English. She had been completely silent, yet he spun with the grace and viciousness of a predator. He stood as a boxer, with his fists up to his face, she noted, and didn’t let his guard down because of her physical appearance. Instead, he had asked, with a boys voice, on the verge of becoming a man, who she was. She didn’t answer, but when the officer went for his side arm, she moved with impossible speed and shot him with her own before his could even clear the holster. 

Not once had he taken his eyes from her’s, nor did he attempt to move out of the way. His blue eyes stayed locked as she moved to check the body she knew was dead. It paid to make sure anyways. He never backed away, and didn’t repeat his demand to know who she was. He stayed on guard and remained watchful, still trying to determine if she was friend or foe. She went on checking the officer’s pockets for documents or codes. 

Something in the young man must have let him know he was outclassed in any way shape or form, likely some base animal instinct, as had served him so well during the assault. He lowered his guard completely. It was like a wolf showing its belly to prove it wasn’t a threat. Out of nowhere came the question she least expected. “Will you.... teach me?” She hid a small smirk by looking down for other items of use. Still, she said nothing. If she was going to take someone on, they had to be just as stubborn as she was. That meant pushing on, no matter what is said or not said. She stuffed anything that looked useful into her pockets and walked out without a word. He followed her out. Stopping and giving him her most flat eyed stare, she finally spoke, “Go home, Jack.” 

A look of surprise stuck onto his face like it was placed there with a skillet. “You....know me?” She rolled mental eyes at his innocence. How was someone so naturally gifted in killing so innocent? That is one of the first things that should go. Instead, he had somehow kept it intact. Turning again, she walked away, stepping over bodies. He, again, followed after her. 

Thus, he began his apprenticeship to her. Where he picked up the whole cigar thing, still baffled and irked her to this day. Along with those cute but insufferable moments of innocence. It’s like he never realized what death is and the fact that he delivered it to others.

Her mind returned to the present in time for her to round another corner of a container. This time, instead of walking, she scrambled soundlessly up the side and laid flat on the top. Listening closely as they rounded the same corner. She dropped down on silent feet behind them, striking faster than a snake with the improvised weapon she had made of the tree branch. It sank to her fist in the first man’s neck, severing both jugular vein and carotid artery. He crumpled, nearly silently, but the noise was enough to cause his companion to turn to the sound. She was already in motion, striking with stiffened fingers into the throat, feeling the crunching pop of the larynx being crushed, following it immediately with a blow from her other hand - right over his heart. Hard enough to cause it to stop. The scuffle was over in mere seconds.

Quickly, she secured their wallets, filled with cash, and took the side arm of the one with the unskewered neck, and positioned the bodies to look like they had killed one another. Lastly, she used the skewered man’s weapon to shoot the other in the head, before placing it in his hand. Now they would be found, and everyone but the ones she’d intended to send her message to, would assume they’d killed one another. 

Walking calmly away, she looked closer at the side arm she had acquired. It was a 1911, the same as issued to the army. It was a decent weapon, her lover carried one much like it. Shaking herself of that thought, she headed for the main shipping office, with funds to spare, and wondered how she would enter Russia in this era of the Cold War.

As it happened, the Iron Curtain leaked like an Iron Sieve, crossing the border into Soviet territory was child’s play. Evading the network of KGB agents, that was established to keep out and get rid of subversive elements, was slightly more difficult. But her lover had taught her Russian, and she spoke it as well as any native of Siberia. The scenery was beautiful, but the people were left in various states of need after such a brutal succession of endless wars.

Being in space had awoke in her the dream of a unified world. A dream she knew she would never live to see. She was preparing her apprentice for the burden of that dream, but doubt lingered as to whether or not he understood it. Maybe one had to literally rise above it all to attain the clarity of vision to see this dream, and desire it’s fruition.

Slowly her travels led her to the forgotten Tselinoyarsk Region. Her lover told her he would be here, listening to the tales of warriors from battles long forgotten in the written histories, and even the oral histories of the indigenous peoples. The region was quite diverse in its topography, from desolate mountains to mangrove swamps.

Looking up into an oppressive darkening sky, she knew she must be close. Over the days and weeks of travel, the prospect of putting herself against her commander, and lover, had waned steadily, replaced by the sinking sensation of anxiety and sadness. She was once again sacrificing a part of her soul for her dream. What would be left when she died? A puppet who felt dead on the inside as outside? A puppet who’s sole redeeming trait was loyalty to the most bitter end? 

Shaking herself violently, she reaffirmed her decision. Her child would be spared by one more death. She would do everything she could to give that child, and her apprentice, a chance for the dream of a unified world without borders. She couldn’t have such a world, she was a soldier. She lived and died dancing on the razors edge of battle. Her apprentice was very much the same, but she hoped beyond anything that her dream would touch him before the battlefield sank into his bones. He still hadn’t found an emotion to hold and hone his edge in combat, so there may be that fragile hope.

Rain came as she walked. First a small drizzle, then a torrent, swelling the banks of the nearby river. The river seemed to flow rather sedately for the influx of water it was receiving. She knew he was near. The world felt strange in his presence. Like the border between life and death grew incredibly thin, or as if it outright vanished. The air was almost frigid, not felt with the flesh but with the soul.

There he sat, by the bank of the river, not far from a large tree. Her breath slowed as she used the noise of the rain to cover her approach. Her hands firmed their grip on the 1911 she had carried so far. She closed to little more than a mere two-meters when he spoke in unhurried tones, for all the world sounding as if he was in complete control. “Good to finally have you here, Joy. Then again, that’s not really who you are anymore, is it, Boss? You may occasionally feel that emotion that carried you so far, but it has been dying a slow, agonizing death since our son was born. The turning point, though, was your mission to space. Your dream doesn’t coexist with the Joy you took to the Battlefields. I made my decision the moment our son was born. I simply chose the place to meet that end. I choose this physical death, so he may live.”

She walked cautiously around to face him, pistol not wavering in the slightest. “Why? Why won’t you try to save yourself?” She demanded with a hard voice. His words had hit closer to home than she had any desire to hear.

He sighed a put-upon sigh. “I am the best possible proof that death is by no means as final as atheists and religious fanatics believe. I will endure, just in a different way. If doing so offered our son the experience of life, before joining us, then I give mine up, willingly.” He paused for a brief moment, blue eyes locked on blue eyes. “This is far from the first time something like this has been happening. In fact, the very first time this circumstance occurred was here in Tselinoyarsk, when a local chieftain demanded his best warrior slay his wife, who had enjoyed a tryst under the stars the very night before. That warrior is a direct relative of mine. So being a nuisance to those in power is a clear family trait.” 

Sorrow smiled briefly, and shed tears for the departed souls of warriors past. “It is only now that the Philosophers managed to lay claim to my lineage. You are the scion of another, marking our child as indelibly as important to the future of this world. Your apprentice is something else as well. I do not know why but he intrigues me greatly. He has a warrior’s soul. I hope you influence him positively, he and our son will shake the foundations of this world.”

The smile faded as Sorrow looked skyward for answers only he could see. “You will see me again, my Joy, here in this land forgotten by the world. The man of lightning will rule here, in spite of the people’s desires. He will destroy the fragile peace of this Cold War. You or your apprentice must destroy him. You must not warn anyone of this, his legacy is also that of the Philosophers. He will know, and any chance at your dream will die. You will know when the time is right. In any case, Loyalty will be your end. The Spirit of the Warrior will always be with you. Until your last breath in a field of white flowers.”

She couldn’t mask her emotions from the massive amount of information. Surprise painted her features in vivid shades, as the rain ceased, and light slowly flooded the bank of the river. “That.... I can’t even begin to understand all of what you have told me. Why tell me all of this?”

Sorrow smiled with tears in his eyes. “I told you because I chose to. If I did or not, won’t alter what will happen, so I told you anyways.” His voice softened to a whisper, almost a ghost of itself already. “It is time, my Joy. Time for me to depart the world of flesh. Save our boy.” He once again locked eyes with her’s. His eyes made the same plea as his words. He was every inch the embodiment of his emotion. He Is Sorrow.

Nodding silently, she brought the pistol in line with his left eye. Tears fell freely, and she felt no shame or need to hide it. He deserved her true emotions in this moment. To see them with his eyes, rather than feel them with his abilities. She could feel the pain of this course of action ripping into her soul with remorseless glee. “Goodbye, My Sorrow.”

He smiled through tears, and spoke, for the final time to his lover, in the flesh. “Goodbye, My Joy.”

The crack of the 1911’s discharging round echoed in the silence as The Sorrow’s left eye vanished in blood. She was so close, the spatter mixed with the water from the rain and tears. Refusing to wipe away the proof of her actions, she turned back to report to her father and ensure the safety of her son. She could feel his presence still, waiting for the day she would return to this place and feel, once more, the bloody rain.


End file.
